


Miracle

by operacricket



Series: Misadventures and Metamours [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22512358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/operacricket/pseuds/operacricket
Summary: It's just a minor emergency. A little baby one. Nothing to make Witchers fret over. So Jaskier calls Yenn.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Misadventures and Metamours [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618633
Comments: 27
Kudos: 773





	Miracle

“What?” Yennefer greeted when Jaskier called mid-way through a conference call with middle management. She normally wouldn’t have answered her cell with her office phone still on speaker, but it was boring, she’d had it on mute for almost half and hour, and Jaskier had never once called her. 

Texted incessantly, but never called.

“Hey, Yenn, sorry, I know you’re at work--” he chattered, and something tight in his voice made her focus in, frowning and cutting him off.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?”

He exhaled loudly. “Can you come drive me to the hospital?”

She was already on her feet, covering the mic of her cell and unmuting the conference call. “Excuse me, I have to go.” 

“The Uber driver wouldn’t let me in the car with all the blood--” Jaskier cut off mid-sentence and said in a very quiet voice, “Oh. Sorry, I’ll call…”

“Not you, idiot,” she corrected, halfway down the hall with her jacket on one arm and purse under the other. “I was in a meeting.”

“Shit! I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know who else to call.”

“Maybe your boyfriend?” she suggested, barely keeping the irritation out of her voice. 

“He’s got that thing today, though!”

Ah, yes, the much anticipated PR stunt Jaskier had tricked and cajoled him into doing for the Children’s Miracle Network. The one he’d grumbled about for days but was clearly looking forward to and deeply nervous about.

“If I call him, he’ll feel like he has to tell that poor kid he can’t be there and that will break literally everyone’s heart.”

“No need for dramatics, I’m coming.” She tore out of the parking lot, never so glad that their apartment was close to her office. “How badly are you bleeding?”

“Barely needs stitches,” Jaskier answered, voice jumping up a bit. Lying, probably. “I won’t bleed on your car, I promise. I’ve got a towel.”

“You’d better not,” she bickered, almost without thinking. “These seats are worth more than your career. I will end you.”

She gunned the gas to slip through a yellow that was more orange by the time she reached it. 

Jaskier was sitting on the front steps of their building when she pulled up, one hand holding a sweatshirt bunched up to his head and the other wringing a towel on his lap.

“Really? What did you do?” she asked through the passenger window. 

He looked a little unsteady stepping over to the car, and she nearly put her foot down about calling Geralt. This should be a group trip to the ER. 

“I just hit my head,” he dropped into the seat next to her, sitting forward so that his back didn’t touch the seat. “Nothing to worry about or to send any hasty texts to Witchers over. It just won’t stop bleeding!” 

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then reached over to buckle him in, which he seemed to be trying to figure out how to do without letting go of the sweatshirt or getting blood on the interior. 

She pushed him back against the seat, already lamenting the detailing she’d have to get done, and peeled away from the curb. 

“If you hit your head badly enough to need stitches, you call an ambulance not an Uber,” she lectured. 

“Well, excuse me, Ms. Big Time Hotshot, we don’t all have salaries and benefits,” he grumbled. “Some of us are but starving artists who also know that explaining ambulance rides is a lot harder than explaining stitches when they get yelled at for secret hospital trips.” 

“You tell me if you’re going to puke, got it?”

“I’m not going to puke.” 

She didn’t slow down around the corner, snorting a bit when the back tires screeched and Jaskier whispered, “Oh good god, I might puke.”

He didn’t, though the silence that fell over the car in the last part of the drive made her wish for something to snap at him for. Anything to get him talking and not potentially passing out with a concussion. 

She dropped him at the door, and when she’d parked and joined him inside, found him squinting queasily at a clipboard of intake papers. He looked so much like a kicked puppy that she snatched it out of his hands and sat beside him. 

He’d managed to fill in _Julian Alfred Pankratz_ and his date of birth, but nothing else. She quickly filled in the rest of the section, address, gender and phone number easy enough. 

“How’d you manage to hurt yourself?” she asked at the next section, after putting down _head wound_ in neat writing. 

“I hit my head on a bookshelf,” he answered sullenly. 

Beside it, she wrote _from chronic stupidity._ “Medical history?” 

She handed the clipboard to the lady at the front desk and asked how long it would be before he was brought to a room. She was willinh to drop names and pull strings if he started to look too green.

While she was standing waiting, she pulled out her phone and flicked through to her thread with Geralt. 

_Where are you?_ She sent him.

He must have been focused on the child he was supposed to be spending the day with, because it took over a half an hour of sitting in the waiting room, pinching Jaskier whenever his eyes drifted closed, for him to answer.

_Memorial Hospital_

Then, _why?_

 _Right, with the kid. What was her name?_ She asked. 

_Ciri,_ he typed back. _Can’t talk._

She slipped her phone back into her purse and went to go argue them into a room.

Eventually, Jaskier was brought back and looked over. He did end up needing stitches, but the concussion was minor, and they wouldn’t need to make him stay for observation. She stayed with him for most of it, bickering about his self-preservation and the shit he got Geralt into. It was familiar and put color back in his face, and she pretended not to notice how panicked he'd been.

While the doctor had been checking his head, she had stepped out to the nurse's station for a little chat, so when all the I's were dotted and T's crossed, she shepherded Jaskier onto the elevator instead of out to the parking garage.

Poor fool was too busy arguing to notice. It wasn't until they stepped out onto the 5th floor that he stopped in his tracks. 

"Where are we going?" he asked, voice laden with suspicion. 

She grabbed his arm above the elbow and pushed him forward. "Come on, this will be much easier with children present."

He made a betrayed, strangled sound, protesting, "But I haven't figured out what to _say,_ " and then they rounded the corner into the children's hematology common area. 

Geralt was already looking their way--probably heard them the second they stepped off the elevator. He was seated at a tiny table, surrounded by munchkins with face masks and IV poles, and it was so precious that it made her heart heart.

"Jaskier? Yenn?" If he hadn't had a little girl, couldn't be older than ten, on his lap, her white blond hair in his face, he probably would have been on his feet.

"Thought we'd say hi before we left," she said, smiling brightly. "It wasn't out of our way."

Geralt's eyes went to the stitches in Jaskier's hairline.

Jaskier sputtered and looked at her furiously. 

"Everything's fine," she soothed, "Hardly even a concussion."

"You," Jaskier hissed at her, "are a mean lady."

He'd get over it.

A moment later, he bounded over to the table his performer's mask solidly up.

The little girl on Geralt's lap lit up. "You’re Jaskier. You wrote the song!"

"Ah! A woman of discerning taste," he exclaimed. "Much more charming than my companion here. I _am_ Jaskier, and you must be Ciri."

If he'd been hoping not to talk about their trip here, he was sorely disappointed, because now that he was close enough, Geralt reached out and grabbed his chin, turning his head to see. 

"What'd you do to your face, Jask?"

"Well," Jaskier said cheerfully, tugging himself free, "It was a grand adventure."

He launched into a story, to the delight of the children around him. It was a far cry from hitting his head on the bookshelf, but the kids were enthralled and the tension was loosening out of Geralt’s shoulders.

Yennefer settled down in one of the tiny chairs when a little body tugged her over, and began helping to select colors for the improbably-shaped monster the children were drawing on the big sheet of paper over the table. 

Geralt walked them back to the car when the day had wrapped up and the children had all returned to their parents or their rooms. 

He pulled open the passenger door for Jaskier, and Yennefer could pinpoint the exact moment when he smelled the blood on the seat.

She smirked and slid behind the wheel, listening as Geralt fussed gruffly and argued with Jaskier over his choice of phone calls. Over the Uber, over the ambulance… Jaskier got a long kiss goodbye and a threat of bodily harm if he ever kept him in the dark about something like this again before Geralt put him in the car.

Once he’d gotten Jaskier settled, he came around and leaned through her window to give her a kiss as well. 

“Thank you for looking out for him,” he said. “Not your job to ferry around idiots who can’t take care of themselves.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Jaskier complained. 

Geralt kissed her again and then stepped back, heading to where Roach was parked. “See you both at home.”


End file.
